Scarred
by CaledoniaDraconia
Summary: Cal's POV. part 2 of the Facade trilogy; prequel to The Fine Line, though can be read as a stand-alone piece. Cal's college days are full of broken dreams and broken promises, but will the tregedy that surrounds him turn him into the monster we all despise? final chapters will be Cal/Rose. Please R/R; no flames :)
1. Chapter 1

Fall 1902

One day before the start of the term, and the halls are already alive with activity… porters coming and going, confused-looking underclassmen wandering about, old friends greeting each other and telling stories of summer. I glance around the room, searching for familiar faces when a voice from behind calls my name. I turn to see a brown-haired green-eyed man coming toward me. "Benntin Kaiche!" I smile as my childhood friend gives my arm a firm pump. "So, how was your vacation?"

"Oh, same as usual," Ben replies, nonchalantly shaking a lock of hair out of his eyes. "I…"

A loud rumbling sound approaches; we barely have enough time to dive out of the way before a large trunk speeds past. "Go on, get out of the way, you morons!" a young blond-haired boy shouts as he hurries after his cart… obviously an underclassman.

"I suppose some people forget to pack their manners," I shout after him. Ben and I exchange a look as he disappears down the hall. I know we must be thinking the same thing: that kid's going to be put in his place fast.

A large throng is already gathered around a bulletin board farther down the hall as we approach to check our room assignments, just as we've done at the start of every term for the past two years. I peer over the tops of people's heads, but it's no use; I'm still too far away to see. Not that it would matter much… It's nearly impossible to read the dean's writing at the best of times.

I'm able to inch closer as the crowd begins to thin out, my eyes scanning for my name; I finally find it: _Caledon Hockley and…_ The name listed next to mine isn't Ben's. There must be some mistake… Ben and I have been roommates since freshman year. I check again just to make sure I'm reading the assignments correctly, and my heart sinks. "We're not together this year…"

Ben nods solemnly. "I know." He forces a smile. "At least we'll still be on the same floor. Our rooms are right across the hall from each other."

A tall dark-haired man is leaning in the doorway of one of the rooms. He smiles as we approach and says with a flawless French accent, "_Bon soir._" Ben and I exchange a look. I hope this guy's not an exchange student! He laughs, his blue eyes darting across our blank faces, and trades his French accent for a heavy Southern one as he speaks again, "I'm Raoul Shelmerdine."

"Cal Hockley," I introduce myself as he vigorously pumps my arm up and down. I jerk my head toward Ben. "And he's Ben Kaiche."

Raoul turns to Ben. "So you're Benntin Kaiche? Well, I guess this makes us neighbors."

Ben gapes back at him. "So you're not-" he begins, but I shoot him a warning look before he can finish that sentence.

"A foreigner?" Raoul finishes for him; Ben nods. "Shoot, no! I'm from New Orleans."

"Excuse me." I jump slightly as a small voice pipes up. I look down to see another young man, light-brown haired and several inches shorter than me, staring over an armful of books with baleful gray eyes. "I-I'm David Walker," he stammers timidly. "T-this is my room…" I quickly stand aside as I realize I'm blocking the doorway. He's right… his name was the one next to mine on the assignment sheet.

Ben and Raoul snicker as I introduce them – and myself- to Walker. "Where did you come from?" Ben demands.

"Chicago," Walker replies meekly.

I can't help but notice the roguish glint in Ben's eye. I sense danger; he must think Walker is an underclassman. I shouldn't be surprised… I did, too, until he told me his name. I know I should nip this in the bud; maybe if they see me be friendly to Walker, they'll get the idea and leave him alone. "Do you know the Ryersons?" I ask him.

He nods, staring wide-eyed at me. "My grandma invites them over for tea every Sunday."

"I'm bored!" Raoul complains suddenly. He turns to Ben. "Where do you go to have fun around here?"

Ben smiles mischievously. "Just you wait." He turns to me with a wink, and I immediately know his plan.

"Do you want to come, too?" I ask Walker.

"No, thank you," he says as he brushes past me with his books. "I have to study."

Ben and Raoul exchange a look as the door closes behind Walker. "How can he need to study?" Ben voices exactly what I'm thinking. "Classes don't even start until tomorrow!"

Raoul chuckles. "That guy sounds like a real stick-in-the-mud!"

We take Raoul to a small run-down pub a few blocks away. The cramped room is already overrun with people who had the same idea as us; apparently we're not the only ones celebrating the start of the term. The barman recognizes us immediately. "Long time, no see, boys!" he greets us. "So what'll it be, the usual?"

I nod – so does Ben – as we take the table in the back corner, the only vacant one left. Raoul immediately becomes interested in a brunette at the other side of the room and ditches us before our drinks even arrive. Ben laughs. "Real ladies' man, that one!"

It's well after midnight by the time we get back to our dormitories. Ben mumbles a "good night" as he leads a staggering Raoul into the room across the hall. I peer inside my own room to complete darkness, and I know Walker must already be sleeping. I'm careful not to disturb him as I get ready for bed myself. My head is pounding as I lay back against the pillow; I glance at Walker in the bed at the far side of the room. Maybe he had the right idea all along…

The sunlight is pouring in through the window by the time I force my eyes open. I glance blearily around the room, and my eyes fix on Walker, already dressed and sitting at the desk engrossed in a book, almost as if he never left since last night. "Dave? What time is it?" I ask groggily.

He pulls out his watch and turns to me. "Five 'til ten." My heart drops as panic sets in; my first class of the day begins in only five minutes… English with Professor Larson. I hastily throw on some clothes and grab my schoolbag, running a hand through my hair to smooth it down as I rush out the door. Damn… of all the classes I could be late to, it had to be the one with the strictest teacher. I can just hear the old man now, scolding, yelling at me…

I can hear him talking all the way down the hall, but that voice doesn't sound like Larson's… how odd. Ben and Raoul are already seated in one of the front rows as I barge into the room. Ben pat the vacant seat beside him, but Larson clears his throat loudly before I have the chance to sit down.

I turn, bracing for the barrage of reprimands to come, but the face staring back at me isn't the wrinkled weather-beaten one of Professor Larson. This man is taller, younger, and – to my great surprise – smiling. "Long night, Mr.….?"

"H-Hockley," I finish for him, stammering incredulously. "Cal Hockley."

"Mr. Hockley," he repeats. "Well, I trust you'll be on time to my classes from now on." I nod dumbly. _His_ classes? What happened to…? I start to ask about Professor Larson but think better of it as the new teacher turns to face the group. "As I was saying, I'm Professor Reynaldi. Professor Larson has retired, so I'll be taking over his classes…"

He picks up an armful of books from a nearby cart, dropping them onto the nearest desk with a loud THUNK! "This term, we'll be reading one of my favorite works of literature," he continues, handing out books as he moves between the rows. He drops one on the desk in front of me, and the gilded letters of the title catch my eye: _The Strange case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde._ I inwardly groan; I've never been an avid reader. My eyes shift back to Reynaldi as his voice drones on, "…which begs the question: what is the very nature of duality? Is man inherently evil or good?" How the hell should I know?! "I'd like each of you to write an essay detailing these points, due this Friday."

Friday morning arrives, yet I still have no idea what Reynaldi wants us to write about. I glance at the clock on the wall; his class begins in only two hours… I'd better think of something and fast! His words replay in the back of my mind, _"Is man inherently evil or good?"_ I haven't the faintest; I would think that would depend upon the circumstances. I rifle through my bag for a pen and paper as inspiration hits me. A little more than an hour later, I have my essay, disjointed, incoherent, and well over half a page shorter than Reynaldi wanted, but still something to hand in.

I almost bump into Reynaldi that afternoon on my way to rowing practice, the first one of the season, and my first as captain of the team. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hockley," he greets me. I nod an acknowledgement as I walk on, but Reynaldi's next words stop me in my tracks. "I'd like to talk to you about the essay you turned in this morning."

He's going to tell me I failed… I knew it. I reluctantly turn, bracing for the reprimand to come, but to my surprise, Reynaldi smiles. "I haven't finished grading yet," he says, "but yours was the best essay I've read so far." I stare at him. "Congratulations," he adds before turning away.

The rest of the team is already gathered by the time I arrive. My eyes fall to a blond boy standing with his back to me, looking confused and out of place. "You, there! Are you lost?"

He wheels around with an insolent glare, his dull gray eyes burning out of an ugly pointed face like a rat's. I recognize him immediately; he's the same kid who tried to run me over with his cart! "I'm on the team, same as you," he says, sticking his chin out defiantly. "Just ask the coach if you don't believe me."

No sooner does he speak that Coach McGee, a tall hulking mustached man, appears behind him. "Gentlemen!" he shouts, holding a megaphone to his lips. The idle chatter dies as all eyes turn to him. "I'd like to introduce your new teammate, Anthony Chandler." Chandler… that name rings a bell, but I can't place where I've heard it before. Then it dawns on me: Aaron Chandler! He was my father's business partner when I was little. Apparently they had some sort of falling out, an intellectual property dispute or something. _I wonder…_ no, I remind myself. That's not an uncommon name; he's probably not from the same family.

McGee cuffs Chandler's shoulder affectionately as he continues, "This is Mr. Chandler's first year at Harvard University; I expect you to-"

"But freshmen never make the varsity team!" I cut him off before I can stop myself. McGee silences me with a look, and I see the message in his eyes: _You did._

"Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" McGee's voice booms, but I'm hardly paying attention. I cast a sideways glance at Chandler; so that arrogant little bastard thinks he can come in and steal my thunder?! _I _was the first freshman to make varsity; _I _was McGee's star athlete, but nobody remembers that anymore, not with him around. At least he's not Team Captain, I bitterly remind myself. I'm still the youngest rowing captain Harvard University has ever had; that's one record Chandler hasn't taken from me… _yet._

"Hockley!" McGee's voice suddenly jerks me out of my thoughts. "You're pulling unevenly. Just watch how Chandler does it; his timing's flawless!" I don't want to watch Chandler do a damn thing!

"Wait a second!" Chandler's mean eyes meet mine as his head whips around. "Your name's _Hockley_? As in _Nathan_ Hockley?"

I nod. "My father. Why?"

Chandler glances at McGee, and his voice drops to barely more than a whisper. "You ought to know! Your father nearly bankrupted my family!" So he is related to Aaron Chandler… I should've guessed. I sigh; between chandler showing me up at every opportunity and Coach McGee constantly fawning over him, this is turning into the longest practice of my life. I'm beginning to understand why my father hates this family…


	2. Chapter 2

As the term drags on, Anthony Chandler proves to be an even bigger thorn in my side. On the last day, I find him leaning against the wall outside Professor Reynaldi's office as I approach with Ben, Dave and Raoul. I stop suddenly at the sight of him, nearly causing the others to crash into me. The conversation we were having immediately dies. "Go away, Chandler."

"I don't have to," he retorts, crossing his arms defiantly. "It's a free country, Hockley; I'll stand wherever I damn well please."

I sigh, turning back to the group as Raoul resumes telling us about the diamond necklace he found as a Christmas present for his mother. "I'll bet you miss that, don't you, Hockley?" Chandler pipes up again. Dave and Raoul look at each other; Raoul shrugs. Chandler's lips curl into a self-satisfied sneer. "You mean you two don't know?" They gape at him blankly. "Well, I guess that's no surprise. I certainly wouldn't want anyone to know if _my_ mother was a Scottish gutter-rat."

I have to take several deep breaths before I can speak, but I still feel the blind rage building inside me. I glance back at Dave and Raoul as they exchange a confused look. Poor fools… They obviously have no idea what he's talking about… I almost feel sorry for them. They don't know the story… how my mother was little more than a child when she met my father, how she defied her family and left her homeland to marry him, how she gave her life to save mine…

I have to force a nonchalant expression as I turn to face Chandler. "My mother was-"

Chandler rolls his eyes as he cuts me off. "She was a whore who outlived her purpose in the end, just like they all do."

My hands ball into fists. Ben rushes to my side as I start at Chandler, yanking me back with all his might. I struggle in his grasp; his arm is the only thing keeping me from tearing that little son of a bitch apart. He shoots me a warning look, but I stare past him into Chandler's remorseless eyes. "I'm warning you, Chandler…"

He chuckles as my voice trails off weakly. "It's not as if she didn't have it coming." His eyes narrow. "Honestly, I'm surprised it took your old man as long as it did to off her…"

I knock Ben's arm out of the way, lunging at Chandler before I can stop myself. I'm only vaguely aware of his hands on me, trying in vain to pull me back, but I throw him off. Chandler's head hits with a dull thump as I pin him to the wall. That insolent little bastard thinks he can talk that way about my family?! "It's about time you learned some manners!"

I punch him once, twice, three times, yet it's still not enough to wipe that smirk off his ugly rat-face. He doesn't flinch, doesn't try to run away; he just glares back at me, his eyes glittering with malice, and laughs. I poise to strike again when someone grabs my arm. "What the hell is going on out here?" a voice from behind me demands.

I let go of Chandler in surprise as I immediately recognize the voice… Professor Reynaldi. Ben and Raoul stammer incoherently, both trying to answer at the same time until Reynaldi holds up a hand. "One at a time, please."

Chandler is the first to regain his voice; he puts on a shocked expression and a panicked tone as he says, "Thank God you're here, Professor!" He glances back at me for a split second, and I can see a vicious fire grow in his eyes. I know exactly what he's going to do… he's going to try to make me out to be the bad guy. "I was standing here minding my own business, and Hockley just attacked me-"

"That's a goddamn lie, Chandler, and you know it!" Ben interrupts; Raoul and Dave nod in agreement. He turns to Reynaldi. "He was provoked, sir! Chandler started it…"

"I didn't do anything; he's trying to frame me!" Chandler protests, jutting out his bottom lip for affect. "Of course, Hockley's entourage is going to back him; it's four against one." He looks at Reynaldi with pleading eyes. "Don't you see what's going on here, Professor?"

A cacophony of voices rises as Ben and Chandler argue with each other; their voices grow angrier and louder, each trying to drown out the other until… "QUIET!"

All eyes turn to Professor Reynaldi in stunned silence; he's never shouted at anyone like that before. "My office, Hockley," he says firmly; his eyes are dead serious as they meet mine. "The rest of you, back to your dormitories!"

"B-but, Professor!" Chandler stammers, wiping blood from his nose. "I'm injured…"

"Oh, that's enough, Mr. Chandler. I think you'll live," Reynaldi chides him. "Mr. Walker!" Dave, who has been lagging slightly behind Ben and Raoul, stops in his tracks at the end of the hall; his head turns at the sound of Reynaldi's voice. "See to it that Mr. Chandler returns to his dormitory…" Dave takes hold of Chandler's collar, dragging him down the hall. "…and that he stays there!" Reynaldi adds before they disappear from sight.

The door bangs shut behind Reynaldi with an ominous finality. I hear his key scraping in the lock, and my heart sinks as I wonder what punishment he's about to hand down. What if he gets me kicked off the rowing team? Or worse, what if he turns me in to the dean and gets me expelled? My father would never let me hear the end of it…

The chair creaks quietly as Reynaldi sits across from me. I brace for the inevitable reprimand to come as I reluctantly lift my gaze to meet his; his eyes are stern, though not exactly angry. "What happened?" he demands.

My eyes shift as I debate whether or not to answer him. I have no idea how he'd react if I told him the truth about what happened, if I let him see me vulnerable; I don't think I want to find out…

"Cal?" Reynaldi's voice jerks me out of my thoughts. His eyes soften slightly. "I want to help you, but I can't if I don't know the truth."

I sigh; it looks like I don't have a choice. "Our families have hated each other since I can remember. Our fathers are business rivals and…" my voice trails off. Why am I telling him all this? It's not like he'll actually care… "He's had it out for me since he got here," I try again. "He called my mother a whore, said she deserved to die…" I have to bite my lip hard to stop it from trembling as memories of her threaten to overwhelm me… her kind eyes, her sweet smile, her violent death…

Understanding dawns in Reynaldi's eyes. "Ah, yes. 'A sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use'."

"I don't know what happened; one minute I was talking to my friends about the holidays, the next you were pulling me off of Chandler. It's like a different person took hold…" I don't understand… Why am I pouring my heart out to him like this?

Reynaldi smiles. "Quite like our mutual friend Dr. Jekyll." I manage a shaky smile as I nod, though panic sets in at the back of my mind. "Now, there's the matter of your punishment…" Here it comes… "I won't report this little incident, though I must impress upon you the seriousness of your actions." So I'm not going to be expelled after all? I almost breathe a sigh of relief, but he adds, "I will, however, be writing to your father about this."

My heart drops. Given the choice between the two of them, I'd take the dean; he certainly seems the lesser of the two evils. Poor fool, he probably thinks he's doing me a favor. Little does he know he's just fed me to the lion's den…

Several of the servants are gathered in the foyer when I return home, yet my father is nowhere to be seen. Good… maybe Reynaldi didn't tell him about that fight after all. Our oldest maid Maggie, a fat grandmotherly woman, steps forward, her face flushed, her gray hair peeking out from under her cap. Her bright blue eyes light up as she smiles. "Welcome home, little Master," she greets me, throwing her arms around me. _Little Master_… the name she's called me by since I can remember.

We break apart as someone coughs loudly; as I wheel around, I see my father standing at the foot of the stairs. His cold gray eyes are suddenly burning with rage as he surveys me up and down, a look I know all too well… It's the same look he gives me every time he's angry at me. "My study… NOW!" he barks. I wrack my brains, but I can't think of anything I might've done to set him off this time… until I remember Reynaldi's words, _"I will be writing to your father about this…" _

I reluctantly follow him upstairs; he locks the door behind us, and my heart stops dead. He knows… I know he knows what happened even before he says in an accusing tone, "You beat up a Chandler?"He chuckles, waving a scrap of paper in front of my eyes. I immediately recognize the handwriting as Professor Reynaldi's. "So says a certain Professor Ryman…"

"Reynaldi," I correct him automatically. His eyes change as the note crumples in his hand.

"You know damn well who I'm talking about!" I jump slightly as his fist pounds the desk. He takes several deep breaths before finally assuming a nonchalant expression. "My God, Caledon! What were you thinking? I thought even you had enough sense not to attack-"

I can't help but laugh at this overly dramatic tirade. "I wouldn't say 'attack'. I knocked him around a little bit, that's all."

His eyes flash dangerously as he rounds on me. "Don't talk back to me, boy!" He grabs my right arm hard; I try to yank it back, but his grip is too strong. "Need I remind you that Aaron Chandler is our chief business rival?"

I roll my eyes. "No. How could I forget?" The thought crosses my mind to try to explain to him that Chandler called my mother a whore, insinuated that her death was well-deserved, but I don't have the heart. Besides, knowing my father, he'd probably agree with Chandler.

"Do you have any idea what your actions might've cost us?" my father demands, his hold on my arm tightening, twisting. "If word about this got out, it might be enough to drive our customers back to that conniving son of a bitch!" I have to clench my teeth against the pain as he twists my arm farther. I'm not dumb enough to let him see that he's hurting me… I know that would only make it worse.

"A scandal like this could run us into the ground…" he continues ranting. "Is..." twist. "That…" twist. "What…" twist. "You…" twist. "Want?!" CRACK! I shake my head numbly as I hear the dull snap of bones breaking. My father abruptly lets go of my arm, and his eyes almost soften as he stares back at me… almost, but not quite. "This is not to happen again, Caledon. Is that clear?" I nod, allowing the door to slam loudly behind me.

A sharp pain causes my eyes to snap open in the dead of night. Damn… I must've turned onto my broken arm, I realize groggily as I sit at the edge of the bed, staring blankly out the window into the night. I reach for the decanter on the nightstand, awkwardly trying to pour a glass of brandy with my left hand. One glass, then another, yet it does nothing to dull the unbearable pain in my arm.

I push up my sleeve as gently as I can, but the pain still makes me wince. I glance down; my arm is bent into a gruesome S-shape. That looks bad… obviously in need of medical attention. My heart sinks as I realize no doctor will be coming… my father won't send for him and he's certainly forbidden the servants from doing the same. I have no choice… I'll just have to bandage it myself.

With some effort, I finally manage to tear a long strip from my sleeve. I try to position it around my injured arm like a sling, but tying it one-handed proves to be impossible. The knot comes undone, and the cloth flops open… again.

A sharp knock at the door causes my head to jerk up suddenly. I sigh, half-expecting it to be my father, come to cause me even more damage. I reluctantly turn, but it isn't my father's cold dark gray eyes that meet mine. "Maggie?"

I could swear I see tears brimming in her soft blue eyes as she sits beside me on the bed, taking my uninjured left hand in her own rough, calloused ones. "I heard what happened…" She gasps as her eyes fall to my broken arm, to my torn sleeve, to the untied cloth sling. "Allow me, sir." I make no effort to protest as she ties the sling firmly behind my neck. I wait for her to reprimand me for fighting, for defying my father, but she doesn't… just looks at me, her eyes shining with sympathy.

Maggie forces a smile. "It's late; you need your sleep." I allow myself to sink back into the pillows as she pulls the blankets tightly around me, just as she did when I was a child. She brushes a stray lock of hair away from my face, kissing my forehead; I stare after her as she turns away. "Good night, little Master."


	3. Chapter 3

February 1903

Professor Reynaldi stops me in the hall. "Mr. Hockley…my office." I follow him inside, and he pulls a piece of paper from his desk drawer, a paper I recognize as my last essay. "I'm very disappointed, Cal," he says, handing the assignment back to me. "Your penmanship is an abomination! This-" his voice trails off as he searches for the right word. "_Chicken scratch_- isn't like you."

"I'm sorry, Professor," I mumble, hurriedly turning to the door. "I'll rewrite it."

"Too right, you will…now!" Reynaldi demands, jerking his head toward the desk. I stare at the blank paper in front of me, and the pen wobbles in my left hand. "I've never known you to write with your left hand," Reynaldi says sternly. "Now, no more funny business, Mr. Hockley!" I take the pen in my right hand and immediately wince. Reynaldi's eyes soften as understanding dawns on him. "How long has your arm been injured?"

"Since the holidays," I reply, avoiding his eyes.

Reynaldi sighs, turning toward the door. "Wait here." He returns a few minutes later with a taller, dark-haired man. "Cal, this is Dr. Briggs, the head of the medical department. He's agreed to take a look at you." And he turns away, shutting the door behind him.

Dr. Briggs approaches. "So, Professor Reynaldi tells me you have an injured arm." He chuckles slightly as he opens his black doctor bag. "Since I started teaching, I haven't had much opportunity to use this." I wince as he prods my right arm; he tsks. "Classic spiral fracture."

I stare at him. What the hell does that mean?! His eyes are stern as they meet mine. "When did this happen?"

"Over the Christmas vacation."

"C-Christmas vacation?" Briggs stammers flabbergasted. "That was weeks ago! And no one bothered to set your arm?" I shake my head; he sighs. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to re-break your arm to set it properly."

I manage a reluctant nod as Briggs voices exactly what I'm thinking: "This is going to hurt." My teeth clench as he takes hold of my arm, but I don't allow myself to make a sound. I grip the back of the chair hard, so hard I can see my knuckles turning white, as the sharp pull on my other arm worsens, tighter and tighter until…CRACK!

I look at Briggs again as he unfurls a long bandage. "You'll be good as new in about a month or two," he says nonchalantly, wrapping my arm.

"_A month or two?_" I repeat incredulously. "But what about rowing? I'm the team captain, and-"

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," Briggs cuts me off, tying off the bandage. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must have a word with Professor Reynaldi." I stare after him as he disappears into the hall. Reynaldi's voice rises, but I'm hardly paying attention. No rowing for two months! How is the team going to get on without me? Who will they give my spot to? What if they don't give it back? I laugh mirthlessly. It's almost as if my father planned this. The old bastard never tires of taking away the things I love; it sounds just like something he'd do…

"What happened?" Professor Reynaldi's voice jerks me out of my thoughts as he takes a seat across from me; his eyes are dead serious as they meet mine.

"I-" I stop myself before I can tell him what really happened; I know my father would never forgive me if I did. I'd better think of some story and fast. "I slipped on some ice… you know how unusually cold it's been…"

Reynaldi shakes his head disapprovingly. "Cal, the doctor said you have a spiral fracture. That's not an injury you'd get from slipping on ice." His eyes change. "Now, tell me what really happened."

"M-my father…" I barely manage to choke out. My head bows but I still feel Reynaldi's eyes boring into me, waiting for me to finish that sentence. Memories of that night come rushing back, the way he flew into one of his typical rages upon learning I'd beaten up Anthony Chandler. I can still feel is grip on my arm, squeezing, twisting…

Tears suddenly pour from my eyes before I can stop them. I turn away, but I know it's pointless…Reynaldi's already seen. I half-expect him to laugh or scold, but he doesn't… just sigh sadly as his hand rests on my shoulder. "Your father's been doing this to you for a long time, hasn't he?"

I nod, vainly wiping my eyes. "Since my brother died when I was five…"

"You don't have to take that!" The harshness of Reynaldi's tone startles me, though I'm not sure whether his anger is toward me or my father. "Cal, you're not a child; you have every right to defend yourself."

I chuckle under my breath. Easy for him to say! He doesn't know what it's like… "How would you know?"

Reynaldi's eyes darken. "My father was the same way…"

I stare blankly at him. "My God! I'm sorry, Professor-"

"Don't be," he cuts me off, waving a hand as if to dismiss the matter. "It's not your fault." He bends so that his eyes are level with mine. "Cal, look at me." I reluctantly meet his gaze. "I promise you there is a way out of this." And he turns away.

I don't think any more about my encounter with Professor Reynaldi…at least not until several days have passed. I glance up at the clock on the wall…I'm late to class. I hurriedly jostle my way through the crowd and crash into a tall black-haired man standing outside Reynaldi's office. "Watch where you're going, you –"

He turns, and I'm met with a familiar pair of dark-gray eyes. "Father?" I have to work to keep the shock out of my voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Some professor invited me here…said a conference was in order."

"What professor?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

"Riley… Randall…something with an R."

"Reynaldi…" I mumble under my breath, but I realize my father's still heard me as his head bows into a damning nod. My heart sinks.

His eyes are glinting dangerously as they meet mine. "If he tells me your grades are slipping…" he whispers ferociously. He grabs my uninjured arm, squeezing hard, and I wince. At that very moment, the door flies open and Professor Reynaldi appears, his eyes darting from my father to me and back. My father suddenly releases his hold on me. "Professor Reynaldi?"

"Mr. Hockley," he replies coldly, barely inclining his head. "Please step into my office…" I start to follow them, but Reynaldi stops me. "Wait here, Cal. This won't take long."

I sit on the bench outside Reynaldi's office, and it isn't long before angry voices rise. "…comes back from vacation and just happens to have a broken arm?!" I can scarcely believe the voice shouting is Reynaldi's…I've never heard him so angry. "Did you honestly think no one would guess…"

"Did my lying son tell you that?" Father cuts him off. "That conniving little sneak! When I get my hands on him, I'll-"

"Abuse him?" Reynaldi finishes for him. "_Again,"_

"What you call 'abuse', others would call discipline, Professor Reynaldi." I can hear the barely veiled rage in my father's voice.

"Is that what happened to the other one, you _disciplined_ him to death?" Reynaldi demands. He chuckles sardonically. "My God, you make me sick! If I had my way, people like you would be locked up for eternity!" A long tense pause follows, and I know his words have struck a nerve with my father.

A hauntingly familiar WHACK shatters the silence, and I know my father has just punched Professor Reynaldi. "You nosy bastard! How dare you talk about my son-"

"You're right," Reynaldi coolly interrupts him. "Cal is _your son_. It's about time you started treating him like it."

"Don't… tell me… how to raise my son!" The door bangs against the wall, shattering the glass, as my father storms out of Reynaldi's office. He grabs my hand hard. "Come along, Caledon! I'm pulling you out of this godforsaken school, now that I know what kind of-" He glares at Reynaldi. "-riffraff teach here." His voice drops as he turns to me. "I could get you into Princeton or Yale, no problem."

He tries to pull me along, but I don't budge. I glance up at Professor Reynaldi and see a bruise darkening over his left eye. A sudden pang of remorse grips my heart; he got that injury trying to defend me. I know I have to do the same for him. "No!" I yank my hand put of my father's; he wheels around, staring at me. "I'm not leaving; my _friends _are at this school…" Reynaldi smiles as he and I exchange a look. My father's eyes are suddenly burning with malice as I turn back to him, and I instinctively stand between him and Reynaldi. An idea suddenly dawns on me. "Besides, how would it look if you pulled me out of the most prestigious school in the country?" His eyes change, and I know I have him. "Everyone would think I flunked out or worse…" I can't resist sneering as I add, "Got expelled."

My father nods reluctantly. "Fine." I stare after him as he turns back down the hall, cursing. Did that really just happen? Have I finally won in an argument against my father? My eyes shift back to Professor Reynaldi; I notice his worried expression and know we must be thinking the same thing: _not for long…_


	4. Chapter 4

May 23, 1903

Professor Reynaldi's class… my last class on the last day of the term. I take a seat between Ben and Raoul. "Hey, Cal!" Raoul greets me. "You nervous about the big test today?"

"Not at all," I reply nonchalantly, digging into my bag for a pencil. Why should I be nervous? After all, Reynaldi gives me higher marks than all the other teachers at this school combined.

I glace up from my desk, but to my surprise, Reynaldi isn't at his usual spot in front of the room. A strange blond man, hardly older than me, stands in his place. He clears his throat loudly. "Gentlemen, my name is Professor Parker." He jerks his head toward the blackboard where his name is written. "I'll be conducting your exam today."

"Where's Professor Reynaldi?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Parker glares icily at me as he hands me a test. "Professor Reynaldi is indisposed," he replies coldly, "though I hardly see how that's any business of yours, Mr.…"

"Hockley," I finish for him. "Cal Hockley."

Parker's expression changes. "Ah, yes. _Mr. Hockley_." He turns to face the rest of the class. "You may begin your exam…" He glances at his watch. "Now."

I hear the faint sound of pencils scratching against paper all around me. I try to concentrate on the exam in front of me, but my thoughts are with Professor Reynaldi. _Why isn't he here? That's not like him. Maybe he's sick, or maybe…_

"Pencils down!" Parker suddenly yells, jerking me from my thoughts as he moves between the rows of desks, collecting the tests. He looks up, slowly rifling through the papers in his hand. My God, I wish he'd hurry up! "Gentlemen, you are dismissed."

He's barely finished his sentence before I grab my bag, hurrying out the door. "Where are you off to, Cal?" I glance behind me to see Ben's laughing face.

"I…" my voice trails off as I think of an answer. "I'll be right back."

I hear loud bumping and clattering as I approach Professor Reynaldi's office. The door is wide open, and I peer inside to find him throwing books into a large black suitcase. "Professor?"

He stiffens but still stands with his back to me. "Good evening, Mr. Hockley."

"Why weren't you in class today?" My eyes dart around the now empty room, and my heart sinks. "Are you going somewhere?"

Reynaldi sighs as he turns to me. "It seems _someone_-" He catches my eye. "Has complained about my teaching practices…"

My mind flashes back to that disaster of a conference between Reynaldi and my father last month. I can still see that look of barely veiled rage in my father's eyes as he left. Understanding suddenly dawns on me. "My father…"

Reynaldi nods. "He must've gone straight to the dean's office after our little exchange, insisted I was out of line..." He scoffs. "Naturally, they backed him, and why wouldn't they? It isn't every day that someone like Nathan Hockley barges into their office."

"B-but…" I stammer weakly. "You're the best teacher at this school!"

Reynaldi gives me a small sad smile. "Thank you, Cal."

"They can't just fire you like that!" My hands clench, and I feel a hot angry flush rising to my cheeks as I recall all the things I cared about that my father took from me… my cat, my mother, my spot on the rowing team… now he's after Professor Reynaldi!

"Obviously they can." Reynaldi sighs. "And they have."

"I'm so sorry, Professor…" I feel my throat tightening as my voice trails off. A pang of remorse stabs my heart as I realize he's losing his job because of me. My eyes suddenly begin to sting, and I have to bow my head.

"Don't be!" The harshness of Reynaldi's tone startles me. "My termination _was not_ your fault; you didn't ask for this, any of it." I feel his hand squeezing my shoulder. "Look at me, Caledon Hockley." I can barely bring myself to meet his eyes. "If I had the chance to start over, I'd do the same thing again; I regret nothing."

He crosses the room and pulls something out of his suitcase. "This is for you." He hands me his battered copy of _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. My eyes dart from him to the book and back again. "As I'm no longer a teacher, I hardly have use for it." He forces a smile, but I can only stare blankly at him as he gives my arm a firm pump. "Until we meet again, Mr. Hockley."

Reynaldi snaps his suitcase shut, turning toward the door; it slams with an ominous finality as I follow him into the hall. "Goodbye, Professor," I barely manage to choke out before he disappears down the hallway, leaving me staring hopelessly after him.

I lie back on my bed, glancing aimlessly around the deserted room. Dave's exams finished yesterday, and he caught a train back to Chicago this morning. Good… that leaves me alone with my misery. If only I hadn't gotten into that damn fight with Chandler; if only my father hadn't found out; if only I hadn't told Reynaldi what he had done, none of this would've happened!

I'm suddenly jerked out of my thoughts as I hear Raoul's loud Southern accent rising from the hall. There is a sharp knock on the paneling, and Ben pokes his head in. "Raoul and I are off to celebrate the end of the term," he says. "Do you want to come?"

"No, thank you." I unthinkingly pick up Reynaldi's book.

"What's that?" Ben jerks his head toward the book in my hands.

I force a nonchalant expression as I reply, "It's nothing." I'm only vaguely aware of Ben closing the door behind him as he rejoins Raoul in the hall. Their voices grow fainter and finally stop.

I absentmindedly thumb through the pages until… I notice black ink on one of the pages. I open the book to the last page and immediately recognize the flowing handwriting as Professor Reynaldi's. I read:

_Cal,_

_Duality is not a sin, but a means of survival._

_Warren Reynaldi_

What exactly does he mean by that? I almost smile as I set the book back on the nightstand and force myself to think nothing more about it as I turn off the light. Typical Reynaldi, always speaking in riddles.

I return home the next afternoon; my father and Crawford are standing in the foyer awaiting my arrival. Crawford smiles warmly as I burst through the door. "Welcome home, sir," he greets me; my father remains stone-faced and silent.

My eyes search the throng of other servants gathered around, expecting to see Maggie among them, but to my surprise, no kindly blue eyes meet mine. I turn to my father. "Where's Maggie?"

"She died," he replies without a hint of emotion, "About a month or two ago now." No… Maggie can't be dead! She's been working for us since before I was born, probably even before my father was born. I can't begin to imagine how this house will function without her.

"_A month or two?"_ My heart drops. I should've been here, should've been able to at least say goodbye to her. I look my father square in the eye. "Why did no one tell me?" I demand before I can stop myself.

"I, uh…" His voice trails off as he searches for just the right excuse. "I thought it might distract you from your studies."

"W-where is she buried?" To my horror, I hear my voice breaking. I pretend not to notice; maybe if I don't, my father won't either. I glance up at him, and I know it's useless; he already has.

My eyes dart from my father to Crawford. "You have to take me to her…" Crawford exchanges a look with my father. He sighs, reluctantly following me outside.

The car slows to a halt amid an unusually large throng of people in the streets. I stare aimlessly out the window to a woman across the street surrounded by flowers. I catch sight of the sign at her feet: _Bouquets 10 cents_. _Idiot… how could I pay my respects to Maggie without flowers?_ My mind silently berates me. The horn blasts loudly, jerking me out of my thoughts as Crawford shouts, "Go on, get out of the way!"

"Crawford!" He doesn't hear me; he's still too busy yelling to the crowd. "Crawford!" I say a little louder; he turns. "Wait here; I'll be right back."

The flower woman gives me a simpering smile as I approach. "What can I do for you today, sir?"

My eyes scan the bouquets, searching for the perfect one to match Maggie's personality. Most of them are scrawny and dull-colored with petals missing. I almost turn back when I finally find it… the one bouquet fuller and brighter than the others, with happy blue and yellow flowers. I drop a dollar bill into the woman's outstretched hand, and her expression changes. "Keep the change," I mumble, turning away.

The cemetery is deserted as I follow Crawford along the winding stone path; he stops suddenly and I almost crash into him. My eyes fall to a simple solitary stone, well removed from all the others. Funny… I expected my father would've left her in an unmarked grave. Crawford turns to me. "Shall I wait by the car, sir?"

"No." I have no idea how long this is going to take… probably longer than he'd be willing to wait. He'd come back after only a few moments, try to rush me and… I inwardly shudder at the thought of him seeing me vulnerable. "Go back to the house; I'll be along soon."

He nods, and I hear his footsteps retreating as I gaze longingly toward the sky, wishing it would cloud and turn gray, that rain would pour forth to hide the tears threatening to fall, that thunder would roar loud enough to drown out the sobs I'm choking back. I sigh; no such luck. The sky remains a cheery shade of light blue like the flowers in my hand, like Maggie's eyes. I feel the sun blazing down on me, mocking my pain, as I kneel beside her grave and I allow my fingers to trace the name on the stone:

_Margaret Blake_

_1824-1903_

Her name suddenly blurs. I press a hand to my eyes, and I comes away wet. Strange… I never felt the tears falling. The cold marble sooths my burning cheek as I rest my head against the stone. Memories come rushing back… the way she'd give me a piece of candy whenever I wandered into the kitchen, the way she'd tell me stories about her life in the country, the way she'd comfort me whenever my father wasn't around, the way she'd call me "Little Master"… I have to squeeze my eyes shut, but I can still see her… her wrinkled face, her laughing blue eyes, her kind smile…

I finally manage to force my eyes open to the fading blue and purple light of the darkening sky. Several hours must've passed; my father would've expected me home by now. I can already see his cold gray eyes staring me down, hear his voice droning on about "a gentleman's responsibilities". I sigh, turning back to Maggie's grave. I don't want to face him, not yet…

I jump slightly as I feel a hand squeezing my shoulder. I quickly wipe my eyes, but I'm sure whoever it is, they've probably already seen. I reluctantly glance up, half-expecting it to be Crawford or worse, my father come to drag me home. Instead I'm face to face with a man I've never seen before… short and plump with thinning brown hair and round glasses; he looks to be about my father's age, maybe a few years younger. I instinctively pull away; the strange man gives me a sad smile. "What's your name, son?"

"Cal Hockley." I rise to my full height, turning away, but I still feel his eyes on me.

"Not Nathan Hockley's son, are you?" I can only stare blankly at him. He chuckles slightly. "Of course you are! You look just like him." He extends a hand to me, but I don't take it. "I'm Reverend Mallard."

"That's not possible…" My eyes narrow. "Reverend Mallard is old." The stranger shoots me a warning look. "Well, _older_," I quickly add. What kind of fool does this idiot take me for? He's probably just trying to kick me while I'm down…

The strange man laughs, and I gape at him. That was the last thing I expected him to do! "I see you know my father; he's retiring at the end of this month." _What? Reverend Mallard's retiring? And he has a son?_ I scoff under my breath; so that's another thing my father neglected to mention. The new Reverend Mallard smiles as I finally allow him to shake my hand. "I'm Daniel Mallard."

His smile fades slightly as he stares past me to Maggie's grave. "Was she your mother?"

"S-she might as well have been." I hate that he hears my voice breaking. My eyes begin to sting again, and I have to drop my gaze. "She died while I was at school. I didn't get to tell her…" I swallow hard as my voice trails off. _Idiot… why am I telling him all this?_

I wait for him to laugh or scoff, but his eyes remain dead serious as I force myself to meet his gaze. "She's in Heaven now, watching over us all," Reverend Mallard says solemnly. His hand once again rests on my shoulder, and his voice drops as he adds, "I'm sure she already knows." He glances up momentarily, and his tone changes. "It's getting late." He flashes a force smile. "Go home, Mr. Hockley; I'm sure your father is worried about you." I chuckle sarcastically as I watch him go. _More accurately, he's worried I've done something to embarrass him…_

The house is dark and deserted as I return… or so I thought. A lamp suddenly flickers on. I peer inside the parlor to find my father sitting in an armchair, his eyes burning with malice in the dim light. "Well, look what the cat dragged in!" He rises, surveying me up and down… my trousers splattered with mud, my hair falling into my eyes, my face streaked with dirt and tears. "My God, you look horrible!" He takes out his watch, holding it up to my eyes. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Dinner was over two hours ago! He rounds on me, his face only inches from mine. "You will never take off like that again, Caledon. Is that understood?" He grabs me by my lapels, shaking me hard; I nod. "A gentleman does not shirk his responsibilities…"

I roll my eyes as he launches into his familiar tirade. His eyes flash cold fire, and I know he's heard me chuckle under my breath. _WHACK!_ He punches me hard, but I don't flinch. I've taken enough of his blows by now to know that only makes it worse… "You think this is funny, do you?"

I force myself to hold his gaze as I wipe the blood from my lip… another injury to explain to the neighbors, no doubt. "Father," I have to work to keep the hate out of my voice. "Why didn't you tell me about Maggie's death?"

"My God, I didn't think even you were _that_ stupid!" He puts on a fake condescending smile. "Did you already forget? I told you, I didn't want you to be distracted from your studies."

"You're a terrible liar, Father." He stares blankly at me; I ask him again. "Why?"

"Why?' he repeats incredulously; his eyes flash. "All right, I'll tell you why. I knew you'd fail to keep your emotions in check, and – what a shock!" His eyes narrow. "I was right; this is exactly how I knew you'd react." He applauds sarcastically. "Thank you for proving my point, Caledon." My hands clench; I have to take several deep breaths before I can glare back at him. "Did you honestly think I'd allow the whole of Harvard University to see you crying like a goddamn Nancy-boy?!" He pretend to dab at his eyes as he sobs mockingly.

"You…" I'm at a loss for words as blind rage takes hold. Before I can stop myself, I lunge at him, knocking him into a cabinet. I'm only vaguely aware of the shards of glass raining down around us. "You son of a bitch! Professor Reynaldi was right about you all along!"

"Reynaldi?" My father laughs mirthlessly. "So that meddling fool's finally succeeded in turning you against me?" I hear the dull thud of blows landing as I try to punch every inch of my father I can get my hands on. _How dare he talk about Professor Reynaldi that way? How dare he mention that name at all after he hit him, got him fired?_

He finally wriggles out of my grasp, brushing the dust and glass off his coat as he straightens. To my horror, I see a bruise darkening around his eyes. Did _I _do that to him? His lips curl into a sneer as he glares at me, but there's something besides anger in his eyes this time. Pride? Triumph? He rounds on me, and I brace for the inevitable pain to come, but instead of attacking me, he stalks right past me. I stare after him as he disappears down a hallway, but I can't get that look in his eyes out of my mind. Did my father actually just spare me the brunt of his rage? What just happened?


End file.
